


Good Thing it Wasn't the Peace Prize

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: June Fic-A-Day Challenge [22]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, It Happened in a Dream, amazing story generator, crack!fic, fic a day challenge, taco tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:25:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the many problems inherent in Taco Tuesday is having weird dreams/nightmares. Fitz's dreams are weirder than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Thing it Wasn't the Peace Prize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badscienceshenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badscienceshenanigans/gifts).



> The 22nd fic in my [Amazing Story Generator, Fic-A-Day challenge](http://memorizingthedigitsofpi.tumblr.com/post/120419056932/ive-been-thinking-for-a-while-that-id-like-to) for June. If you want to, you can send me a prompt of three numbers between 1 and 60.
> 
> Numbers: 33, 12, 37  
> Prompt: Upon winning the Nobel Prize, a child genius inadvertently starts World War III.

Fitz's mother sat on one side of him and Jemma sat on the other, and they both beamed as his name was called.

"The 2015 Nobel Prize in Physics is awarded to... Dr. Leopold Fitz."

He made his way through the various tuxedo- and ballgown-clad ceremony attendees and mounted the stage to receive his diploma and medal from the King of Sweden.

Just as he turned to the crowd to make his acceptance speech, he suddenly shrank 30cm. A look of horror crossed his face as he looked down to see his now-miniature body. Why was he wearing his pajamas?

When he looked back, all 1,000 attendees were laughing uproariously at him.

"Hey!" he shouted, and his voice was a high-pitched squeak. He clutched at his throat in confusion and instead of the slightly rough skin he should have felt after a recent shave, he felt nothing but the baby-smooth skin of prepubescence. "What is _ha_ ppening?" he shrieked, his voice cracking halfway through the question.

Suddenly a middle-aged woman with a thick Russian accent stood up, a look of outrage on her face. "Why has this _child_ won the prize?" she demanded to know.

"This is an outrage!" agreed an older Chinese man, standing up a few rows behind her and on the other side of the Hall.

"Shut yer bloody faces," blustered a Scotsman in the front row. "Yer not takin' that prize away from the wee lad! 'E's earned it!"

"Earned it?" scoffed a young woman from Pakistan. "He's come to the ceremony in pajamas! This is an insult to the entire scientific comm--"

"Poppycock!" interrupted a grandmotherly Englishwoman. "The poor boy is clearly up past his bedtime." She turned to him with a sweet smile. "There now, young man," she reassured him. "We'll soon have this straightened out."

But they didn't.

Instead, the room got gradually louder and louder, voices echoing off the rafters and filling all of the empty spaces until suddenly the high glass windows shattered inwards, raining shards on everyone inside.

Before long, the roomful of people had separated into factions. Each one used whatever they had at hand to harass the others. High heeled shoes were wielded like daggers. Bow ties turned into garrottes. Boutonniere pins were gathered together and placed into perfume bottles to be launched like grenades into enemy camps. The entire ceremony descended into madness.

Fitz cowered onstage, clutching his medal to his chest and watching the goings on in complete and utter confusion. He had no idea what was happening, he just knew it wasn't good. He hadn't meant to upset everyone so much! And honestly, when he'd arrived there that night, he'd been a full-grown man dressed in white tie and tails.

He was just trying to figure out how to explain that fact to the room when a flaming purse came sailing directly at his head.

...

Fitz's eyes opened up and he drew in a gasping breath. He instinctively clutched at his head to check for injuries and felt the stubble on his cheek. Lifting up his covers, he was relieved to see he was once more 27 years old instead of 12. Puberty had been horrible enough the first time. He didn't want to go through it all _again_. Not even if it meant a Nobel Prize.

Sitting up, he groaned and held his stomach. Taco Tuesday was sitting like lead in his gut and raging like fire in his chest and throat.

He really should have stopped after 8.

And not had two more before bed.

Or that last one when he'd gotten up to pee at 2am.

With a gurgle and another groan, he decided to get up and watch some TV. He was probably done with sleeping for the night.


End file.
